Chasing Stardust
by Rain Sky
Summary: Being in the shadow of glamourous stars is not a way to live. Bella envies those bright stars and seeks to bathe in their stardust. OC-heavy, Bella-centric. Introspective.


_Chasing Stardust – Prologue_

A/N: This prologue introduces you to the characters that give voice to their plights throughout this story. Each character will get his or her own chapter(s) to relate the story of his/her life, but there will also be third-person portions where the characters interact. There are many OC's, two of which are my main ones, but the idea is to help develop Bella into a more rounded character through the OC's. The prologue takes place about five years before the series begins, and the chapters progress into the canon storyline. This doesn't include minor characters who may or may not get their own chapters.

* * *

My name is Isabella Marie Swan. But you'd do well to call me Bella. Everyone does. I like Bella much better than I like being called Isabella – it's so out of date! My only quarry with the name Bella is that I wish it truly described me – that I could truly be called beautiful. What with my dull brown hair and plain brown eyes, little about me stood out. I was lanky for an eleven-year-old, and it took me more effort to make new friends who weren't intimidated by my height. My one charming point could have been my long eyelashes, if only half the other kids couldn't match them.

I know, I know. It sounds superficial, doesn't it? They teach you in freshman health class to ignore the fashion industry's version of female beauty, and I understood that fashion magazines weren't real.

I still hoarded every last copy of _People: Style Watch_, _Elle_, _Vogue_, _Mademoiselle_, and _Allure_ that I could get my grubby little hands on. When one of Renee's friends went on a tour in Japan, she returned with not one, not two, but _three_ Japanese fashion magazines. From then on out, I persuaded Renee to subscribe to _Sweet_, _bea's UP_, and _ViVi _magazines as well, even though importing them was expensive. Every time one arrived, my face would light up with glee; even if I couldn't _look_ like those models, at least I could be knowledgeable about what was in, right?

* * *

_Eirina_. I've tried looking for it in every baby name book I have come across. Each time, I failed to find it. It has nothing to do with the name Erin, and everything to do with my older sister. Eirique always looked like your all-American girl, even though she was never blonde. Our mother refused to believe she was anything but extraordinary, so she reasoned that her children must have fantastic names as well, just to be special. She liked that 'Erica' instilled a sense of being 'all-powerful', but she disliked that it was merely 'Eric' with an 'a' at the end, so she named my sister 'Eirique'. We honestly never understood how Mother came to such a spelling, but we never question her openly. She won't stand for it.

Back to me: Mother felt we had to match. It was silly, really. We weren't twins, and we've turned out to be quite opposites. I suppose that also does have to do with nurture. The way Eirique is so wayward, my parents saw me as their last chance to prove that their lineage could be refined and integrated into the high society. Eirique did fine by her tutors, and that was it. But I had to go above and beyond to make up for her partying lifestyle. I envy Eirique sometimes; she can make her own decisions, and I can't. It's not just our parents; I can't even simply choose to go outside and enjoy nature whenever I please.

* * *

I'm grounded. Again. For the third time today. I don't know why they even try anymore. They never check. Besides, it's not like being at home is all that bad. Living on a thousand-acre plot of land in exclusive Toluca Lake with a Mediterranean villa as a house isn't half-bad at all. Even if Mother and Father wanted to come looking for me, they'd never be able to find me physically. The most they can do is find me on security footage, and, even then, I know exactly where the blind-spots are. In fact, I'm lounging near some banana trees right now, a hidden video camera not three feet away. Getting a nice, bronze tan under the warm California sun with no one to bother you… My God, I love being grounded.

* * *

Most people don't think I know very much. Maybe I don't. But I do know that I hate the Augustine's with a burning passion. 'Oh, aren't you a lovely girl? You're just like Eirina and Eirique!' I heard that line far too many times when I was younger. Actually, I didn't hate them then. I was just pouty, since no one had come close to four-year-old me in aesthetics up until that point. I was briefly even friendly with them, since we liked the same children's boutiques and the same chocolate. I can't believe I ever ate so much chocolate; as heavenly as it was, I must have gained weight exponentially…

Even that must have been their conspiracy or something. Father wants me to be a society girl, so he hired a tutor who once taught at a British finishing school. He also hired a tutor to teach me all about fashion and beauty as soon as I could speak coherently. To ruin all that with a bit of chocolate is simply not worth it.

Aside from my physical beauty, I revel in my aquatic beauty. I did water ballet and diving from a young age, and have recently taken up surfing. I always received glowing praise for my poise, but that bitch Eirique Augustine, without fail, always comes out on top. Why? How could it be? I practice no less than ten hours a day unless there is a society event. No one has seen Eirique practice. Large and sprawling as their estate is, _some_ paparazzo has to have seen her.

* * *

'Bellissimo' means 'most beautiful' in Italian. It really blows that I can't uphold the family name. Both my mother and my father are extremely beautiful people. I wouldn't really call myself ugly, but I look so generic. Whenever they introduce me to their friends, they would praise me for being pretty. Yet no more than ten minutes later when I try to initiate a conversation, they would gently ask me who I was.

Rain Waters doesn't have that problem. She's noticed wherever she goes. I don't know what her problem is, really. She seems to get a real kick out of mocking me and antagonizing Eirina and Eirique. Eirique is usually great at taking care of Rain with a smart-ass retort. Her parents would be horrified to hear of the way she spoke to a wealthy man's little girl, but I don't mind knocking that brat down a few notches. Bitch.

* * *

I used to be called Lila. But then I met a fat, mean girl named Lila, and didn't want to be called Lila anymore. I go by Lilac now. It's just one letter, but it makes a world of difference. Besides, now I can match my twin sister, Laurel. It's a bit cheesy, but I love my sister, so I don't mind. It'll sound great in the modeling industry. 'Please welcome Lilac and Laurel… in elegant Christian Dior!' The industry doesn't need two of the same model, though I believe that having twin models might put some emphasis on the runway. Maybe the catchiness of our names will persuade them to sign us both. I mean, if two models are both perfectly worthy of the contract, why turn one away?

* * *

A bunch of laurel leaves used to be given to winners of the Olympics in ancient Greece. It indicates victory and celebration. Lilac should have been given my name. She's the outgoing one. I'm the quiet one. She's the one who is a little abrasive and sharp around the edges; that got her in trouble with a girl in kindergarten who was also named Lila. My sister assumed the girl was trying to pick a fight with her when she was shoved aside. That girl was just pudgy, and a little careless. Her face was a little different, so my sister, then Lila, thought the girl hated her for no reason. She wouldn't be deterred from returning the favor, even though that other girl sobbed and apologized. Lila emerged the clear victor. The other girl never returned to our private school. My sister, however, believed that she was the victim, and vowed never to be called 'Lila' or anything 'that horrific girl' went by. So now she's Lilac, and I'm Laurel. Wisecracks have field days with our names, but I'm more concerned with how well they fit.

Fitting has always been a part of Lilac and my lives. She dreamed of runways from the start and, well, they were rather attractive to me. Who doesn't like looking pretty and wearing beautiful clothes? We have to always fit our clothes. It's not just size; we have to wear the clothes as if they were made specifically for us. Modeling always been a high-pressure 'preparatory class' that dominates every aspect of your life: from what you eat to how much you workout.

* * *

I like the name 'Milan'. I like the name 'Malek'. But I hate them together. What were my parents thinking? They sound terrible together! So, if you please, call me Milan. I like to think of myself as ordinary. Just like any other girl, I love being prettied up. I have an extensive cosmetics and fragrance collection that has been insured for three hundred thousand dollars. But I also am a bit of a Japanophile, if you must. It didn't start out that way. I was just sort of introduced to a couple symphonic progressive metal songs used as soundtrack music, and found that I kind of liked them. I gradually found a number of other Japanese songs I liked, and it kind of took off from there.

That's not to say I don't like other forms of entertainment. Though I vastly prefer Japanese composers and European artists, I watch both Korean and American dramas. In fact, I favor the latter. I read anything, but only in English, save for a few children's picture books in Japanese and Farsi. Most importantly, I am _not_ obsessed with manga _or_ anime! Sure, there are a few I can enjoy. But why does liking a few Japanese things necessarily mean liking anime?

My brother has already complained that my 'nerdiness' is giving him all sorts of trouble. Maybe it _is _a little bit awkward, but for all of a minute. Why should anyone care what his sister does if he is the one they are considering for a friend? Then again, it's not just him. My own friends give me weird looks if I want to discuss anything Japanese. They'll only talk to me if I want to gossip about celebrities and share makeup tips. Some friends they are.

* * *

Where other girls are obsessing over their hair, I've always only had one goal: to compete in the Olympics. Oh, it's not that I'm careless about how I look. I just care _less_. Going on dates is so trite when you imagine yourself on an Olympic podium, a ribbon around your neck supporting a wonderfully-colored medal. I'm euphoric just at the thought of it.

I began gymnastics when I was three, but obviously didn't get serious until I was seven. For the last four years, I trained long hours daily. I wanted to be there, representing the United States in artistic gymnastics, with the other countries looking on approvingly. Although it's been a bit of a financial strain on my parents, they've both supported me wholeheartedly, and I know I won't be able to make it without their dedication to letting me reach my opportunity.

Daria also supported me even when our classmates scoffed at the idea that someone as little as I could ever reach the Olympics. Though everyone saw Olympic athletes as those buff sprinting stars, Daria already knew the value of dreams. I suppose she would know, because she was living a dream. She was the most popular girl in our class. At one point, I wanted to be that girl, but having to leave school early every day to train meant that friendships and connections would have to wait.

* * *

I'm nice – too nice. I, Natalia 'Daria' Martinez-Harrison, am too damn nice to anyone I come across. If they have a sob story to tell, I listen, even if that makes me late to class. I pretend I actually care what happened, and they leave me smiling. My parents have often told me that I am perfect and beautiful, so I grace others with my blessed presence.

One of my regulars if Elisabeth. She wants to win the Olympics. I don't know if she can do it, but she seems content just to try. Poor thing, she has nothing in her life but gymnastics! When she fails, she will certainly need my angel's wings to support her and my heavenly aura to heal the wounds in her heart! I don't keep tabs on people below me, but I really am concerned for when Elisabeth will need me terribly.

* * *

So, my name is Bella and I live alone with my mom, Renee. I visit my dad, Charlie, in Forks, Washington occasionally, but it rains too much there. I prefer sunny Phoenix even though the sun doesn't seem to work on my sickly pallor. It just isn't fair how some people seem to have everything, you know? Why does _that _person deserve good looks, wealth, and popularity? Why don't I?

* * *

A/N: That was a very personal introduction to most of the cast juxtaposed to an eleven-year-old Bella. This prologue does not involve vampires, although they will be joining us shortly. The prologue is generally rounded to give all OC's the same face time, but my main OC's are Eirina and Eirique Augustine. Whereas the introduction is better in present tense, the rest of the chapters will follow the standard past tense. Please leave a comment on what you thought. Although I prefer constructive criticism, I mind neither harsh critique nor flames, so long as they are honest. Besides, flames are good for smores.


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